Wolves in Chic Clothing

by Carrie Karasyov

  “Glad to have you back, Jules,” said her old department head, Purva. “It wasn’t the same without you.”

  chapter 44

  Polly:

  While I sympathize with you during this horrid time, you must understand that it is simply impossible for me to drop everything in my life and come and be by your side. You’re a big girl, Polly, and you made your own bed, so you should lie in it. Things are in such a tizzy now, with the boys out of school on summer holiday, so it is really for the best if you stop trying to contact me incessantly and learn how to handle your own problems. I think a divorce is the best way. Let’s reconnect when things get sorted.

  Mummy

  Polly ripped up the FedExed letter and hurled it across the room. How dare she? How could her mother abandon her in her darkest most dire time of need? Why had she never ever, ever made any effort to help her or to act as a mother? Polly started sobbing bitter tears. She felt sorry for herself. She was now a social leper, she was married to some sort of pervert, and none of her friends, well, except Hope, were talking to her. It was disgusting and, most of all, unfair! What had she done to deserve this? Nothing!

  Polly sorted through the rest of her mail. Nothing good. No invitations, no thank-you notes, no letters of support. Junk mail. Finally, she noticed a cream-colored envelope, where her name was boldly addressed in blue ink. No return address. Polly used her silver letter opener to slice it open.

  Dear Polly,

  I hope you don’t think that it’s presumptuous that I write you and let you know that I know you are going through a hard time (I guess we all are these days) and I just want to say I’m sorry. I guess we have to take the good days with the bad, and although everything sucks right now, I can only hope that everything will be better soon. You’ve always been really nice to me, and I appreciated your friendship. I hope you will be well and take care of yourself and give your adorable son a kiss for me.

  Love, Julia

  Hmph, thought Polly. The nerve! How dare that little trailer tramp equate their situations! Sure, Henny was a pervert, but she could divorce him, whereas Julia was a pariah and a charlatan and there was no getting around that! Polly hurled Julia’s letter in the trash, just as there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” said Polly.

  Polly’s maid opened the door. “Mr. Charlie is here.”

  “Thank you, send him in.”

  Polly had asked Charlie over so that he would be present for her first face-to-face with Henny. She was scared of Henny, now that she knew he was a maniac, and did not want to be alone with him in the same room. She quickly got up and looked at herself in the Art Deco mirror. Her eyes were not so red, Charlie would barely notice she had been crying. She fluffed up her hair and smoothed down her collar before there was another knock on the door.

  “Hi, Poll, how are you?” asked Charlie, coming in and giving her a kiss.

  “Oh, Charlie, so so bad,” said Polly, tears in her voice. She arranged herself carefully on the green velvet sofa, and motioned for Charlie to sit down on the fauteuil across from her. “This has been the most horrid time for me.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “You’re so dear to come. Can I get you something to drink?” Before he responded she buzzed her maid on the little button on the wall. “Gladys, bring in the tea caddy.”

  “No need to go to any fuss—”

  “Charlie, please. You are doing me such a favor. And thank Hope for taking Quint tonight. Because I am just terrified, terrified, to go through this alone, and certainly don’t want Quint around him. I don’t know what I’m dealing with, now that I’ve learned Henny is this monster. And to think I slept next to him for all those years!”

  “Well, don’t worry, he’s still the same Henny. I doubt he’ll do anything.”

  “You never know. I feel like that girl who dated Ted Bundy. She had no idea he was off murdering in the middle of the night. I mean, I had no idea Henny was off looking at kiddie porn at three a.m.! It’s so disgusting. Vile. I knew I hated computers for a reason. Everyone said, Oh, you should go on-line, the Internet is amazing, blah, blah, blah, but I was right! The Internet is evil! There’s a reason I was a Luddite!”

  Charlie laughed as Gladys brought in a tea caddy with sandwiches. She laid everything out on the black lacquer coffee table, then whispered to Polly: “Mister is here.”

  Polly’s hand flew to her throat. “I can’t . . .” she said, bursting into hot dramatic tears.

  Charlie came over and patted Polly on the back awkwardly. He was not used to consoling crying women, and wished Hope was around to assist.

  “Don’t worry, Poll. It’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, Charlie, you’re such a good decent man. Does Hope know how lucky she is?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Don’t worry. Let’s get through this.”

  Polly turned and buried her head in Charlie’s shoulder. She knew she could never get Charlie, that he would never betray Hope, but since this was the only opportunity to nestle into the neck of the man on whom she’d harbored a secret crush on for years, she thought she’d seize the opportunity.

  “What’s this?” asked Henny, entering the library.

  Charlie pulled away from Polly and stood up. Polly, meanwhile, shot Henny the most vicious, evil look.

  “How’s it going?” asked Charlie, stretching out his hand. Henny and Charlie shook hands awkwardly.

  “How can you shake his hand?” sneered Polly.

  “Shut up, Polly,” snapped Henny. “If this hand didn’t have to do so much work whacking my cock, I might not be in this jam.”

  “Guys, guys, let’s not start off this way,” said Charlie, mediating.

  “I want him to sit as far away from me as possible!”

  “No problem!”

  Henny sat on the other side of the room, while Charlie took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “So listen, let’s just make this a productive meeting. I know you both have a lot of emotions, but let’s just try and settle the pressing issues.”

  “I get everything. He never sees our son again. He agrees to leave now,” said Poll, defiantly.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Listen, you have no choice. You’re going to prison!”

  “You couldn’t care less about our son. I get him. I’ll tell everyone that you have never once fed him or bathed him or been alone with him.”

  “Neither have you!”

  “Well, I’m his father, we’re not supposed to do that shit. He’s better off with me.”

  “You just want him to make me look bad!”

  “So what?”

  “Guys, this is really sad and pathetic,” said Charlie, interrupting. “This is your son that you’re talking about. He’s a cute little guy. You both have to grow up and be mature. Figure this out. What’s best for Quint? Stop thinking what’s best for Polly or Henny.”

  “Polly doesn’t know how to think that way.”

  “Fuck you, you pedophile perv!”

  “You’re just like your mother. It’s all about you, you don’t give a shit about your kid.”

  “And you like kids too much!”

  Charlie sighed. He could tell that this wasn’t going to be easy. “Look, let’s just try and be productive. Let’s hammer something out.”

  Two hours later, after Charlie had managed to make a temporary arrangement for custody, spousal support, and other pending issues between Polly and Henny, Quint returned home from the Matthewses’ with his nanny. Polly heard the door close and Daria clucking at Quint, who was babbling something as she carried him to his nursery.

  Polly walked down the hall and listened through the bathroom door. She heard gurgling and water running, and knocked on the door. Daria was giving Quint a bath, and he was bobbing in the water.

  “Missus! You came to visit us! Look, Quint.”

  Quint looked up, and Polly noticed his face totally brighten. Then her baby boy smiled at her. S
he couldn’t believe it. It felt so good.

  “Daria, can I have a minute alone?”

  “Sure, after I finish the bath, no?”

  “Oh, I meant, alone with Quint, not you.”

  Daria looked surprised. “Of course,” she said, rising from her knees. “Do you know how to do this?”

  “Of course.”

  Polly took Daria’s place, and held Quint’s head as he sat in the bath. She watched Daria linger for a minute, but then gave her a reassuring look that it would be okay. After Daria left, Quint looked at his mother and smiled.

  “Hey there, Quinty,” said Polly, splashing water on his tummy. He gurgled in delight.

  It was at that moment that Polly realized that Henny had been right about one thing: she was acting like her mother. She had totally ignored her son. And he was pretty damn cute. Bathing him wasn’t so hard and scary. And then and there, Polly decided to be a better mother. There was no reason to repeat history and the loveless maternal cycle that she had been subjected to. It wasn’t fair to Quint. She’d do the opposite: she’d be the best mother in the world.

  chapter 45

  Hope’s nightmarish satan-in-law, Diana Rockenwagner, was talking her ear off about petty bull once again.

  “Listen, Hopie,” she started with her affected accent. Hope hated that. No one called her Hopie, it was an Indian tribe. “I’ve been thinking . . .” Really? That’s a first, thought Hope. “And for Gavin and Chippie’s sakes, I really think you should consider moving to the suburbs. Your money would go a lot further there and it’s just not fair to the boys. They should really have a yard.”

  Hope was stunned. Her anger mercury was rising fast and would quickly burst if she didn’t take deep breaths to calm herself. “Well, Diana, I’m sorry you think my boys are deprived. They have a lot of love and a hands-on mom, so I’m really not concerned for their well-being.” Hope stuck in the hands-on part because she knew her sister-in-law had a full-time live-in nanny who did everything, including the fun stuff, like push the swings and organize the birthday parties.

  Diana was too dumb to get the jab. “I just think they need more space! A yard.”

  “But you don’t have a yard.”

  “We have a thousand-square-foot terrace and a country home,” she replied.

  Who says country home? What a bitch from hell. Hope could not abide her presence or even her poison voice through the phone. “Thanks for your input, Diana. But we have a yard. It’s called Central Park.”

  “Don’t be defensive, Hope. It’s just a suggestion. It would really look much better if you had a nice house in Westchester or Connecticut instead of that rental. It just doesn’t look right.”

  Hope, who never truly fumed, was fuming. “So it’s not about the boys, it’s about how things appear? To whom? To you and your catty competitive cronies? Goodbye, Diana.” And with that, she hung up.

  Hope stared at the phone for a moment afterward until the sounds of two hands clapping turned her around. It was Charlie.

  “Great job, sweetie! What do I always tell you? Tell Diana off if she’s being a bitch!”

  “You heard that?” she said, getting up to give him a hug. “Sorry. She was just being so evil, telling us to move to the suburbs, meddling in our lives. What’s her problem?”

  “Her problem,” Charlie said, taking his wife in his arms, “is that with all her money and fancy crap, she’s miserable. And she’s jealous ’cause she knows we’re happy.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “But we’re no longer poor and happy—”

  “What? Did you hear?”

  “An hour ago. Greenwich Equity just gave me the offer.”

  “No way!” Hope was elated. So John Cavanaugh came through. And she didn’t have to put out or anything. He was, after all, a nice guy.

  “But . . . Panther Capital just called just now. They offered twenty percent more! And it’s in the city!”

  “Oh my God! That’s amazing!”

  They hugged tightly and Hope jumped up and down. “I am so proud of you, sweetie.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  “Me? What for?”

  “You do everything. You’re the best wife, the best mom, and a true friend.”

  As they leaned in for a kiss, the phone rang.

  “Let’s just let it go to the machine,” said Hope, kissing her husband and pulling him to the bed. As they kissed on the down comforter, the machine picked up and beeped.

  “Mrs. Matthews, hello, my name is Lyster Sargent. I’m your Aunt Edna’s attorney. I’m terribly sorry to tell you this on your machine, but—”

  Hope bolted up and grabbed the phone. “Hello? I’m here.”

  “Oh, hello. Mrs. Matthews, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your Aunt Edna has died. My deepest condolences.”

  “Oh my God,” she said. Aunt Edna . . . dead? She was a royal pain in the butt, but still, that was really due to the fact that she had been in very poor health for the last few years of her life. Hope could remember a time when she was actually a fun great-aunt. Hope felt herself get choked up. Charlie sat up and gave her a hug from behind as she reached for a tissue.

  “She left a long note, it seems she knew she was on her way out, saying you were the only one who ever truly loved her, sending care packages and photos of your sons.”

  “She loved the boys so much,” Hope sobbed.

  “She loved you as well,” he said, pausing, then clearing his throat. “And she left you her entire estate.”

  Hope was stunned. “What?”

  “Everything. And she was a good little saver. After estate taxes are settled, you will receive about three million dollars.”

  Silence.

  “What did he say?” asked Charlie, studying his wife’s shocked expression.

  “Oh my God,” she said, shaking. “I can’t believe this.”

  “It’s true. I am FedExing her letter to you and I’ll be in touch with you next week. Again, sorry for your loss.”

  Hope hung up the phone. As Charlie stared at her tear-stained face waiting for news, she stared off into space, thinking how very strange life was.

  chapter 46

  Julia was leaving for the airport and was frantic because the Tel Aviv car service buzzed from downstairs, five minutes early. And she needed those five minutes desperately. Aside from shoving her clothes haphazardly into a suitcase, knowing full well they’d look like accordions when she later unpacked, Julia threw shoes, a toothbrush, and jacket into her bag. But before running downstairs to the car, she grabbed a pristine Michael Kors hanging bag from the closet.

  “Off to Laguardia?” the driver asked, opening the door for her.

  “Yes, but I have one stop on the way.”

  Julia had just one sole leftover from her whirlwind year running with the rich. In her ascent to party-picture princess, she’d won the hearts and threads of many of the city’s top designers, who offered her access to their PR closet, since she was getting snapped so often. And Julia happily borrowed the goods; after all, she couldn’t afford them.

  So into the office of Michael Kors she walked to return the last of the lent gowns. She thanked the press assistant profusely.

  “Anytime, Julia, you know that.”

  “Oh thank you. I don’t think I’ll be back, though. I’m going a way for a week and then I’ll be . . . laying low, so to speak.”

  “Well, we’re here if you need anything,” she said, knowing what Julia was talking about. Everyone knew. But she liked Julia, everyone who knew her did. “You were always so nice,” she added. “So many of those girls, they come in, demand we messenger and pick up stuff, and it always looks like shit after. They treat this stuff like garbage.”

  “That’s awful,” Julia said. “I can’t believe people behave that way.”

  “Anyway, good luck with everything—”

  “You too, take care.”

  As Julia exited and walked toward the elevators, she turned the corne
r and came smack face-to-face with Lell, who was walking out of a fitting room. Julia was totally surprised, and she could tell Lell was also, and she was unsure what to do. Would Lell make a scene? Should she acknowledge her? What to say to her former boss–slash–friend turned foe? There should be a textbook for this.

  “Hey,” said Julia quietly, giving a weird slight wave, which was more like a flick of the wrist. She was nervous.

  Lell’s face didn’t even register that she had seen Julia.

  Okay, so she’s ignoring me, thought Julia.

  Just then, the elevator rang and the doors opened. Julia looked at Lell, who looked at her. Neither made a move. Finally, Julia gulped, and walked into the elevator, just as Lell did.

  In the elevator, they stood like stone statues, erect, cold, and mute for two floors. Never have two people paid more attention to the numbers on the wall as they made their descent. Julia was very conscious that they were going down, down, down, as if to hades.

  Finally, Lell spoke. “Just so you know, Julia,” she hissed her name as if it were Jezebel. “You really shouldn’t be here borrowing clothes. I introduced you to these people and you’re out of Pelham’s and out of our lives.”

  “I was returning things. Trust me, I don’t plan on coming back,” Julia answered.

  “I sure hope not. ’Cause you’re history in this town. You’re over. You are a pathetic social-climbing loser, and trust me, my family and I are fully networked in this town. And as long as I live, I will personally see to it that you are nothing here. That you accomplish nothing, that you have access nowhere, and that you see nobody. Of any interest, that is. You’re nothing. You’re a total zero.”

  Julia looked at her. At first her face flushed with anger and embarrassment, but then something inside her snapped, and she quickly changed. What a sad case. The girl she once admired for her style and class now seemed graceless and crass. And childish.

  “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Lell, but I’m not afraid of you. This is New York City. And you can’t ‘ruin’ me, or anyone else. And while you’re hurling empty threats my way, I have one for you.” Julia moved in closer to Lell, who backed up nervously. “Your precious Daddy put his hand on my thigh and tried to stick his tongue down my throat. You don’t see me filing lawsuits or calling Page Six or telling the gossips, as you did. The news you circulated was pure lies. And mine’s the truth. So you make one more damning move, and I’ll make my own.”